


Just a Lover's Tiff

by OneOddKitteh



Series: Vivant Avec Un Démon [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Angst and Humor, Dean and Cas fight, Demon Dean, Demon Dean Winchester, Domestic, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Sam and Crowley bond, Sam and Crowley put up with a lot, over coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:09:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneOddKitteh/pseuds/OneOddKitteh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas fight. True to form, Dean refuses to pull his head out of his ass and apologise, so Crowley and Sam are left to deal with the consequences of a lovers tiff between an angel and a demon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I have taken many liberties with the layout of the bunker. One day I'll head back and fix them up, but at the moment I'm writing these fics between homework and articles, and probably shouldn't be spending time on them at all. Hope y'all enjoy anyway!

Dean and Cas had a fight. It had seemed like a small spat at first. It was just Dean being grumpy because Doctor Sexy was on but Cas had control of the remote. Sam had no idea how it’d gotten so loud, but it did.

“You’re being ridiculous, Dean,” Cas spat. “You weren’t this selfish while you were human!”

They were facing off in the middle of the living room, practically bristling like angry cats. They were also blocking the TV, so Sam couldn’t just pretend it wasn’t happening. He watched, and wondered if he should intervene. Cas was clenching and unclenching his fist like he wanted to materialise his blade, and Dean’s eyes were straight black while he yelled himself blue, so Sam decided on self-preservation over intervention.

“Let’s play charades,” Dean said suddenly, a mean smile on his face.

Oh shit, Sam thought, this couldn’t be good.

“You don’t need to guess this one,” Dean continued, never breaking eye contact with Cas. “I’ll pretend to be your dad.”

And then Dean disappeared. He left a gaping silence in the room, punctured only by Sam’s hiss of breath. Sam felt the overwhelming urge to apologise, but Castiel turned to him, and said “Don’t.”

Sam didn’t.

 

Dean and Cas stopped talking to each other, except for violent confrontations that left Sam unsure whether to run for safety, or throw a jug of water at them both. Sam was sick of feeling unsafe in his own house, Crowley was sick of Dean crashing on his couch, and Dean and Castiel seemed to get a kick of masochistic joy out of the chilly silences when they were in the same room.

“I can’t take it anymore,” Crowley said to Sam, resting his elbows on the kitchen table.

Sam spilt coffee all over his hands, but only put a token effort into growling at Crowley for appearing like that. After all, he knew exactly what the demon was talking about.

“He’s _moping,_ ” Crowley said, frowning at the table. “Demons don’t mope. And they certainly don’t drink all my whiskey and sleep on my couch for two weeks straight!”

Sam sighed, sitting across from him, and sliding an extra cup of coffee over the table.

“You think that’s bad?” he asked. “Try having them in a room together. Cas refuses to open his mouth if Dean is in the room. Dean only talks to me if he’s going to insult Cas while he’s talking to me. If they do talk, it’s because Dean’s finally provoked Cas into yelling at him. And I think Cas put wards on their bedroom, because the last time Dean tried to go in there, he didn’t come home for two days.”

“When was that?” Crowley asked.

“About a week ago,” Sam sighed, sipping his coffee. “I tried to ask him what happened and he told me to fuck off.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose, before a smile cracked his exhausted demeanour.

“That would be when he turned up on my doorstep, soaked in saltwater and smelling like seaweed,” he chuckled. “Castiel must be rather imaginative with his wards.”

Sam’s laugh was practically a snort. He took another gulp of coffee, feeling his brain finally start waking up. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd feel properly human in ten minutes.

“It has to stop,” he said decisively. “Watching them fight is normally funny, but this is fucking awful. Cas threatened Dean with the angel blade the other day, then started crying and locked himself in their room.”

Crowley nodded. “It stopped being funny when your brother went through my liquor cabinet,” he said. “But Moose, your brother is the most stubborn bastard I’ve met, and the angel is frankly a little scary. How’re we going to force them to kiss and make-up?”

Sam let his head thump onto the table. “I’ve got no fucking clue,” he admitted.

Crowley sighed.

“That’s just great,” he muttered. “Absolutely wonderful."

Sam flipped him off, and they drank the rest of their coffee in despondent silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Crowley come up with a creative solution to the two raging idiots they've had to cope with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Here's the conclusion to the angel/demon fight. Sorry if it's a little rushed, it was thrown together quickly while my medication kicked in, so I'm falling asleep while I write. Enjoy!

Dean stopped, and stared at the liquor cabinet. He glanced down the hallway and ducked into the room. Castiel was curled up in a corner, with yet another book grabbed from the library. Dean ignored him, and went straight to the liquor cabinet. Crowley had put wards on his own, the bastard.

Dean was barely a foot away from the cabinet when he hit a rock solid wall of nothing. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked up. Sam hadn’t even bothered using black-light paint. Black spray-paint stared back at Dean, and refused to move, no matter how much he narrowed his eyes at it.

“Son of a bitch,” he spat.

The trap was just barely two steps wide. Dean let his breath whistle out between gritted teeth.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he said.

He sighed, and sat down. Cas was ignoring him on the couch, and Dean wasn’t going to initiate any contact. He pulled out his phone. Crowley would help. Everyone had been caught in a devil’s trap at least _once_ in their lives, right?

“Dean,” Crowley drawled. “What seems to be the problem?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. The British voice sounded way too smug for Dean’s liking.

“You don’t have anything to do with this, do you?”

Crowley sighed, the vocal picture of innocence.

“Me, have something to do with trapping you in the same room as a certain angel in the hopes that it ends your little lover’s spat?” he said incredulously. “I would never. All Sam’s doing, that is.”

“Come and let me out?” Dean wheedled, as if a pleading tone would break through Crowley’s heartless exterior.

“No,” Crowley said, true to form.  “I didn’t have anything to do with it, but I’m certainly on the Moose’s side here. Man up and talk to your boyfriend.”

“No.” Dean said. “He started it.”

There was a crunch from behind Dean. Thanks to his new demon senses (kinda like Spidey senses but with more hellfire), Dean could practically smell the dust from the book Cas had torn.

“While I doubt that, I also don’t care,” Crowley told him blandly. “Suck it up, make up, and stop taking out your issues on the angel. Not even he deserves that much angst aimed in his direction.”

Crowley hung up on him. Dean retaliated by editing Crowley’s contact to ‘douchebag.’

“I’m sorry,” Cas said from somewhere behind him, “ _I_ started it?”

Dean narrowed his eyes at his phone.

“If you’d have handed over the damn remote, none of it would have started,” he said matter-of-factly.

There was a loud rustle, and Dean whipped around to face him. Castiel had his hand raised, whether to hit Dean, or smite him, Dean didn’t know. He was barely two feet away, close enough to do either. There was a sudden glow under the angel’s feet, and strands of light wound their way up his legs and body. Dean glanced from the lights to Castiel’s confused face, before backing up as far as the trap would let him. That light looked holy. And not holy in the ‘holy hell’ kind of way, but holy in the ‘that’s gonna burn the fuck out of my demon-y body if I touch it’ way.

“Oh no,” Cas said despondently, staring at the light.

“Oh no?” Dean asked, watching it wind around Castiel’s wrist and begin reaching out towards Dean. “Oh hell no,” he said.

 

“Sam if you don’t fix this I will kill you, you know I will,” Dean said loudly.

Castiel snorted.

“Yeah, well that’s not happening, so let us out and we can go back to normal,” Dean snarled.

Sam, the meddling bastard, wasn’t budging. Dean was still spitting abuse at his phone when Sam hung up.

“Stupid asshole, thinks he’s always right,” Dean muttered to himself, jaw clenched so tight his teeth hurt.

Castiel snorted again. Dean turned on him, suddenly furious at him. If Cas had just backed down, they wouldn’t have been in this mess.

“Do you have a problem?” he snapped.

“Yes,” Castiel said quietly. “I have a problem, and I’m currently shackled to it.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but just ended up looking like a fish.

“How am I the problem here?” he finally asked.

Castiel turned to him. With his eyebrows raised and eyes wide, his incredulity looked like a classic Sam expression. Jealousy flared in Dean’s chest. Castiel had been spending more time around Sam than he’d spent with Dean.

“I wished to watch a show, and you reacted by verbally abusing me and leaving.”

Well when he put it that way… Dean shook his head. No, he wasn’t the one in the wrong here. Castiel had locked him out of his own room!

“Well you dropped me in the middle of the pacific, just because of a little fight,” he said stubbornly.

Cas had a tick in his jaw. Scratch that, his whole face seemed to be twitching. Dean flinched when he finally opened his mouth.

“One little fight,” he said flatly. “One _little_ fight. You mean after you abused me in front of your brother? Loudly? Using cruel and demeaning language? Dean, I think you need to re-evaluate your definition of a little fight.”

“Well, I think you need to-”

Dean suddenly found his tongue glued to the bottom of his mouth.

 “You proceeded to speak to me using hurtful language for days on end. You think I pull my blade on someone when we’re having a _little_ fight? Dean, if I didn’t love you, I’d permit Crowley to lock you in hell where you can’t cause any unnatural damage to this earth. Instead, I live with you, I clean up after your wilful abuses of power, and all I asked in return was to watch television. If you think your reaction was proportionate and in the right, then I’m afraid our relationship won’t be able to continue.”

Dean didn’t know what to say. Castiel turned tired eyes onto him. Dean avoided his eyes, his gut churning. He didn’t like this feeling. He had a sneaking suspicion that Castiel had a valid point, but if that was so, it meant Dean had really _really_ fucked up. When he stayed silent, he felt Castiel look away. When he heard a sniffle, his whole body tensed. Oh no. He chanced a look at Cas. Lower lip trembling, Castiel was rubbing at the shackle on his wrist, blinking away tears.

“Please don’t cry Cas,” Dean pleaded.

Castiel turned his face away. His shoulders shook a little with a restrained sob. Jesus Christ.

“No, baby, don’t cry!” Dean reached out to touch Castiel’s shoulder, but the angel moved away from his hands.

Dean couldn’t breathe. He’d felt terrible, but he’d selfishly thought that he was in the right. Now Cas was crying (again, his traitorous mind told him) and Dean couldn’t fix it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, drawing his knees to his chest. “I’m really sorry Cas. I’m really bad at this communication thing. I’m bad at lot of things.” Dean buried his face in his arms, knowing Castiel could understand his muffled words. “I’ve just been so scared. I was dead, but then I wasn’t, and I took so long convincing Sam that I was ok, that I didn’t realise I wasn’t ok. The power scares me. Knowing that Sam will die and go to heaven where I can’t follow, that scares me.” He laughed bitterly. “I took it out on you. It was fucked up, and I’m fucked up, and none of it is your fault. It’s mine.”

They sat in silence for a long time. After a while, Castiel silently pressed his leg against Dean’s. By the time Sam came home, they were curled up together, limbs tangled and faces pressed into each other’s shoulder. He smiled at them, and tiptoed to bed. It was a start. They’d kiss and make-up properly, but it’d take time. It was ok. Sam could wait. After all, healing wasn’t just about kissing and hugging. It was about talking and understanding.

Sam went to sleep with a smile on his face. He was proud of them for taking the first step. It also didn’t hurt that Crowley owed him 50 bucks. Sam knew his brother and Cas well enough to know that make-up sex wouldn’t take place on the fucking _floor._ Cas had _class_ thank you very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to check out my tumblr, oneoddkitteh, for updates on my fics!


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